


One Life

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 03:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair remebers his life with Jim, as he sits with a dying Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Life

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, yes this is an death story. But, that isn't the 

## One Life

by Muse Rivka

Author's disclaimer: Yes, of course they're mine... well, no they aren't. Only in my dreams, and what dreams they are. 

  focus. Really and for true, this story is Jim's and Blair's life. 

Okay, major thanks are owed to my betas, Mama and Lori, and also Jag and Iroshi and quill and anyone else I forgot. As always thanks go to the IRC crowd. Also thanks go to Lori and Rus and Jag and Mama for making me post this. Iro thanks to the headcheerleader. 

Feedback negative, positive or indifferent is respectfully begged for . 

* * *

One life, how had the life of one man changed the world, changed his world? 

Blair knelt by the bed that he and his lover had spent so long in together. He looked at the wasted body of his once vibrant partner. He simply sat and watched Jim Ellison breathe, grateful that he still could, knowing soon he would have to give him up but wanting to hold on for a little while longer. 

This man, Guardian of the Great City, Sentinel, Blessed Protector, cop and friend...and life mate. Most of those were in the past, Jim hadn't been able to work in a year and a half, and Blair was doing most of the protecting now. The partners were relying on Blair's salary and a stipend from the Cascade PD. 

Blair thought back to what had started this long, slow slide. It had been five years ago. His lover had been chasing a suspect, a druggie who had killed his supplier. Jim caught up to him, but the man had pulled a knife. He went after Jim with it, and gave him a bad cut along the arm. As Jim wrested the weapon away it had scored the druggie's skin and some of the blood of the suspect mingled with Jim's. 

They hadn't been worried, hadn't even though about it until they got the call after Jim's physical. Blair always thought about it as 'The Call'. The one that started the destruction of their lives together, the life that had barely started. 

"Mr. Ellison, we need you to come in for further tests please." 

"Why? what have you found?" 

"We'd rather you came in." 

They made an appointment. They had been worried about the possible discovery of Jim's senses, but it wasn't that. 

The doctor had taken more blood and said , "I'm sorry Mr. Ellison, but the suspect in the drug case tested HIV+. We need to verify that you didn't contract the disease." 

They had waited six months, mostly forgetting. Nothing could touch their love. Jim wasn't sick, of course not. Jim called for the results and dropped the phone. He said in the quietest, most expressionless voice Blair had ever heard him use, "they say that I've got it...I'm positive." He stood, practically talking to himself. "This can't be happening, this isn't happening!" He grabbed the vase on the table and hurled it into the wall. "NO!! I don't believe this. I'm not sick! I don't have AIDS." Blair had sat down on the couch and pulled Jim close, as Jim sat and cried, for the first time since Blair had met him. Jim had insisted on more tests. They had told Simon when Jim thought he should know. They made plans, they coped. 

It was about two years ago when Jim had come down with full-blown AIDS. They had checked the drugs, they all suppressed Jim's senses to some degree, a few threw him totally off. The cocktail he was on now damped taste and smell to normal level, sight was enhanced but no longer as acute as it had been. Hearing and touch were still sharp, when Jim had control of them, he had been losing it more and more lately, as he got sicker and sicker. 

Blair remembered the first time he had met this man, his senses spiking, in the hospital, afraid he was going crazy, afraid of what his body was doing to him. Blair had walked into the room, his first thought had been, "My God, he's beautiful. He'd even forgotten the name he had borrowed, and stumbled over it. When Jim had thrown him into the wall in his office, he had thought about the strength of the man holding him there. It was still a shock when he compared the images in his mind's eye, the strong, healthy man who could throw him against a wall with ease, and the underweight, tired, and more courageous then ever, man on the bed, keeping alive, keeping sane as his body betrayed him. This man, whose fear had been losing control, giving it up to another, had had control taken from him, as his body wasted away, attacking itself. 

Blair reached under the bed and pulled out a box, a box of memories, just little things that he didn't want to forget. He saw a corsage, a ribbon, a menorah and a seder plate, a few crumpled sheets of paper.... scenes from his life with Jim began to run through his head, a slide show of a life. 

Jim, standing in the doorway offering noodles after Maya had dumped him. Blair later inviting him in and keeping him up all night talking about what had happened. Jim just sitting there listening to him rant. 

Jim, installing the doors on his room, for privacy, showing him he was wanted in the house. Showing that he could stay and Jim would adapt to having him there. 

Jim, finally taking Blair to his bed, oh so tenderly, dancing so long around each other, each giving tiny hints, feeling each other out, looking and stepping, and Jim finally taking the initiative to ask. 

Blair thought back fondly to that night, he recalled thinking "We've both been stepping so lightly around each other, me failing to see that Jim wanted me as badly as I wanted him, and I'm a trained observer." 

Jim was so tender, like he was afraid I'd change my mind, like I'd granted him a precious gift. Oh god, I'll never forget that night, Jim's hands stripping off my shirts. He wouldn't let me help; just took them off, like he was unwrapping a present. He spent ages, exploring my chest and face and neck. He told me he was making a memory of me in his hands. 

He finally let me start to play after he had explored his fill. I stripped his shirt and roamed, tweaking and pinching, licking and soothing and nipping. I'd felt his hands undoing my pants, he sat me down on the edge of the bed and pulled off my jeans, then just mouthed me through my boxers, the inside of my legs, finally moving up to mouth my cock through the fabric. I remember, I was half begging at that point. I almost cried from relief when he pulled down my drawers and took my cock in his mouth. Jim Ellison, with my cock in his mouth, on his knees and loving every second of it. The sight of the man I had loved for so long, loving me back drove me right over the edge. Jim just smiled and milked it for all he could get. Then I got my chance, gods, there is nothing like the smile on Jim's face during and just after sex. I had so much fun going down on him. Caught him totally by surprise with the deepthroating. He sure quizzed me about where I'd learned that particular skill though. 

Blair smiled with remembered joy. He'd been so surprised when his lover had first asked Blair to top him. 

Even though I know women do it every time they have sex, it still felt like such a responsibility. I had been gifted with Jim's trust, trust that he wouldn't be hurt, trust that I'd love him and be careful. It was like the first time he let me drive the truck in a way. Jim trusted me, and that was special, who else did Jim trust? Really, truly, trust? 

Blair pulled a length of green ribbon out of the box and sat fingering it.. 

It was my birthday, I'd had to work at the U the whole day and hadn't seen Jim. I walked into the house and my mouth dropped open. The smell of Jim's lasagna wafted out on the open door and I saw the table set with candles, juniper and vanilla I think. On the table was the lasagna, garlic bread and a bottle of red wine. I didn't see Jim although I heard him up in the loft. He'd yelled down, saying he'd be down in a minute, and he was. I sat and stared at the vision in front of me. Damn that man was hot. My Jim, in black jeans so tight I would have seen the underwear line. I didn't. He had a forest green silk shirt on, and a diamond stud I'd given him for his birthday in his ear. I was in total awe. Jim took advantage of my gaping mouth to kiss me, slow, sweet, and passionate. He led me to the table and moved the chairs so they were kitty-corner. We ate dinner chatting about our days. Jim's hand on my thigh and my hand on his the whole time. We finished and cleared up the dishes. Jim told me to go take a long shower while he got ready. When I got out of the shower, the downstairs was dark, Jim had blown out the candles. I saw a soft glow from the loft and called up to make sure I could go up. I walked up the stairs and was stunned for the third time that night. In the glow of candlelight I saw Jim, lying posed on the satin sheets, nude, hard, and beautiful. A forest green ribbon was tied on Jim's cock and a package was next to him, also green. Even after months, my eyes were still drawn to Jim's body, the hard sculpted planes, the smooth muscles. I loved the lines of his body. My eyes were drawn to Jim's cock and the ribbon, then up to Jim's face. Jim beckoned me toward the bed, and handed me the package. Inside was KY, and a condom. I'd asked if it meant what I thought it did, Jim had said yes and asked if I was going to finish unwrapping his gift. So I did. Who would have thought the big guy had a taste for bottoming? 

Blair pulled out a white rosebud corsage from the box and remembered Jim taking him out dancing. They had driven to Seattle, to a gay club, and Jim had danced with him. It wasn't even a birthday or anniversary or Valentine's day. It was a "Jim remembered that Blair had said wistfully that he wanted to dance with Jim" day. So, Jim made it happen. 

Blair's eyes teared up as he looked at the man in the bed, Jim's eyes flicked open for a second, and Blair soothed him, a hand to the forehead and a chaste kiss, and Jim went back to sleep. Blair couldn't help but see and compare Jim's eyes, the bright vivid blue, sparkling when he pulled into the club, with the pain dulled, darkened blue that Blair saw when Jim was awake now. 

There were so many changes in his lover not just the physical wastedness but an air of fragility that surrounded the once vital man. Jim was quieter, he had always been quiet, but now he'd became introverted, less angry and more resigned. He had two years to realize that he would die. 

The change that always stuck out to him were Jim's hands, strong and gentle capable of stroking Blair's body and tying his hair back, or pulling a trigger or punching a suspect. Those hands were still. Jim no longer had the energy to do anything but live. 

Things hadn't always been wonderful, Jim was a stubborn, pigheaded man at times. 

Blair couldn't count the times, before and after they had become lovers that Jim had stood out on the balcony, sometimes in pouring rain, sometimes for hours, just to avoid talking to Blair. He stood there silent til Blair managed to prod enough for him to talk. 

He even missed Jim's bellow. Jim yelling at him for flushing the toilet at 10:02pm, or stealing the hot water, or a million other things. He missed being told to pick up his towel and fold his clothing. He missed the things that had always meant Jim to him. He had once made the mistake of eating a cookie in bed. Jim had complained until Blair had washed the sheets and turned the mattress, crumbs are bad enough when you're not a Sentinel, worse when you are. 

It was all the little things that Blair had started to miss when Jim got sick. Things he'd never noticed except by their absences. The everyday things, that spoke of love, the morning kiss, sometimes passionate, sometimes a chaste good morning, sometimes Jim saying I love you the way he did best, those things only conspicuous by their absenses. 

Blair reached up to rub a kink out of his shoulder. That was another one. Jim always seemed to know when his neck was in knots, and never failed to work on it. Blair would be bent over working on his dissertation, or grading papers and would feel hands on his neck working out the knots, Jim smoothing his hands along Blair's neck. Just a gesture of concern, an act of love. 

Blair thought back... or he had a habit of brushing out my hair at night. 

You wouldn't expect Jim, macho man, to love touching my hair, love brushing it. I was surprised, but it just became one of those habits. 

Hell, I even miss bullying him to eat. I'd come from the U in the afternoon, find him swearing at paperwork, and find out that he hadn't eaten all day. I'd run out to get him some food. I never got more than a grunt in response, but I never needed more. I knew he loved me, knew every time he touched me, pulled my hair back, or tucked it behind my ear. I knew it. I was, _am_ great at interpreting JimSpeak. 

God, when did I start thinking of Jim in the past tense? He's still alive, maybe not for long, neither of us have that illusion. Hell, he all ready helped me write his obituary, but he is alive. I can't think of him like he is already gone. Resigned shouldn't mean given up, but that's what I'm doing. I won't, he _is_ alive. 

Blair dug deeper in the box, he saw his old observer credentials, and his newer advisor to the cascade PD credentials. He also saw his PhD diploma. Oh that had sparked a hell of a fight. 

Blair had been sitting in front of the fireplace, looking in his notebook, he was so caught up in it he didn't notice Jim walking into the loft. Blair had shut the notebook as Jim watched, the labeled cover obvious, it was the rough notes for the first draft of Blair's sentinel dissertation. Blair had stood up and walked toward the fire. 

"I can't believe I'm doing this, three years of work, and I can let it go." 

Jim had taken in the pile of labeled notes and journals by Blair's side and seen the few bits of paper ash in the fireplace. 

"Blair, what are you doing" 

"What does it look like I'm doing Jim, protecting you, like I always do. It's none of your business, go upstairs or go away." 

"Blair, I won't let you do this." Jim had stepped in between his lover and the fireplace 

"I've seen the time you put in on this, all the work, you can't throw away you career, your work. Why are you doing this" Jim grabbed Blair's wrist to stop him from throwing the journal into the fire 

"Brackett. Jim I've known I couldn't publish with your name for a long time, but I've been thinking a lot lately. Anyone with enough time or brains could see that you're the only person I spend time with. Someone else will make the connection. My career balanced against your life? No contest." 

"This is it, you just give up? You just take the last four years and throw them out the window? Why the hell have I done all those tests, drank sour milk, listened for hours? So you could burn the records and destroy your career!?" 

"Jim, I can't let you get killed so I can get a PhD. My career isn't worth your life or sanity." 

"So publish it when I die! But, I want to see you walk that stage before I die. Explain to your committee why you can't publish yet, tell them you will when the subject would no longer be in harm's way. But, I want to see you walk that stage." 

"Okay Jim, I'll try. No promises that my committee will let me, but, I'll try." 

Jim had taken the journal out of Blair's hand and set it down on top of the other. He'd pulled Blair close and said, "We need to get these back to your office, c'mon, I'll help." 

Blair had talked to his committee, made them understand, and promised to publish sometime in the next 15 years. He'd graduated that spring and Major Crimes had thrown him a hell of a party at the loft. Without a doubt the capstone on the evening had been Simon handing him a badge. Blair was an official consultant to the department. Simon had told him that while he would be expected to consult for other departments, he was assigned to Major Crimes, and he would be primarily working with Detective Ellison. The loft had erupted with cheers and Jim had had a smile wider than the fireplace on his face. 

Blair pulled a piece of paper out of the box and read it. 

And there would be no more Valentines 

Next year, there'll be no Valentines,  
cause he'll be gone

the light of my life  
the shade of my heart  

He'll be gone  
They'll be no more Valentines   

I'll see that smiling face no more  
they'll be no more Valentines  

The silver ring, I'll wear   
but they'll be no more Valentines   

I'll never feel him on me, or me on him   
they'll be no more Valentines   

The silver cord will sever   
and he'll be gone   
the temple will be vacant and the soul be gone 

and they'll be no more Valentine's   

The familiar touch of face and body   
the hand on my back,  
the laughing voice 

all gone  
and they'll be no more Valentines 

no more friendship, no more love  
they'll be no more Valentines 

just the memory of Valentines' past 

I'd never been a poetic person, and I'd never show Jim the poem. I wrote it a year   
ago, after Jim got really ill. It was the day after Valentine's day, and we were   
both sure that he'd never see another one.

The year before he'd picked me up from Rainier and taken me out into the country, a totally isolated spot. The sight of Jim Ellison, Mr. Cop, with a picnic basket and a goofy grin on his face was enough to pull me away from the papers I'd been grading, apart from the surprise of 60 degree weather in February in Cascade, home of cold and wet. Jim was smiling like a little kid with a secret but he asked me not to pry, and so, for once I didn't. Jim had cooked all the food himself, making sure it was easy to hand feed, grapes and the like. Jim Ellison, Romantic extrordinare. No one else would have guessed that sweet side of my lover. We'd fed each other from the basket, stopping occasionally to pitch grapes at each other. It really was Jim's fault, he called me Hairboy so I had to retaliate, but he made up for it with the roses. 

I'd told him this was the best Valentine's day I'd ever had. He told me to look in the bottom of the basket. I found two things, four really but mostly two. I found a condom and lube, which didn't surprise me, and I found a jeweler's box, with two rings, each two strands of silver twining around each other, which did. I pulled the box out and looked at it, the rings were beautiful, but Jim wouldn't meet my eyes. He sat there and waited. We sat that way for a while, silent. I finally broke the silence. 

"Well, aren't going to put it on me?" I held out the box and my hand and waited. His hands were actually shaking a bit as he took one of the rings out of the box, and started to slide it onto my hand. But, he had the patented Jim Ellison grin on his face, the smile that always made that stern face light up. He sobered up a bit though, pausing with the ring almost on my finger. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jim's face was expressionless for a movement. Sure you want to tie yourself to a dying man?" The look in his eyes was so heartsore, even after so many years, five as a couple. Jim wasn't sure I'd say yes. I swear I was on the verge of tears. 

"I've I committed to you long ago. this is just visible. Love, I'll never leave you while you live." 

I'd pushed my hand through the ring he was still holding and pulled him in for a kiss.. He took a second before responding, then I took his hand and put his ring on it. I looked at him, and the smile was back. We'd made love that night and it was so sweet. 

But that was before Jim left the department, before he started turning into a shadow. Last year he couldn't have driven. We spent the day at home together. I brought him roses and we ate dinner, quietly, in the living room, cuddling each other. Jim was too tired for lovemaking that night, so we went upstairs and held each other while we fell asleep. I got up during the night and couldn't stop crying. I sat down and wrote that poem, the first I'd ever written. 

The tears starting forming in Blair's eyes as he looked again at the man he had loved for eight years. They had shared joys and sorrows, shared hurt and shared light. They had been everything to each other in so many ways. 

Blair suddenly noticed that while he had been lost in thought Jim had stopped breathing. Blair looked up and the tears flowed, tears for the man Jim Ellison, for all the potential that he had had. The potential explored, and that which had only been barely touched upon. The plan for children, for making police captain, for so many things. They had died with Jim. The man had died, his life cut short by a disease and a young man who wanted an escape. He had gotten that escape, and given it to others. 

Blair stood up, his eyes bright with tears, his heart longing to follow the man who had been his life, but the thoughts of his lover's hopes and dreams and a phrase he had heard used at a funeral service years ago held him to earth. "May the beauty of his life shine from generation to generation, and may our lives always bring honour to his memory." 

Blair would live, love and be happy again, someday. But he would never forget that man who had gentled the wild spirit, let him into his heart and made him whole. He would live and love, but never forget. 

* * *

End One Life. 

 


End file.
